“Hey, now.” Woodman held up one callused palm. “My hands are just as--”
Princess Ginger suddenly appeared in the doorway of the barn with her hands on her hips and her face heaps of mad.
“Ain’t jumpin’ today?” asked Cain smoothly, cutting off his cousin.
He didn’t want to hear about how Woodman worked just as hard as he did. Whereas working at McHuid’s was bread and butter for Cain and Cain’s family, Josiah saw his work at McHuid’s more along the lines of a hobby. Cain and his father were there out of necessity. Woodman was there because he enjoyed it. There was a world of difference in their calluses, and Cain didn’t feel like comparing them.
“Y’all are supposed to catch me together!” Ginger pouted, folding her arms over her chest.
Her chest.
Wait a minute now.
Her . . . chest.
Little Ginger had a chest: two small mounds tented the front of her yellow and white sundress. When the hell had that happened?
Lifting his eyes quickly, he fixed a grin on his face. “Well, darlin’, at least your momma won’t come after us with a danged fryin’ pan this year.”
His cousin stepped toward her and wrested her arms apart, sliding his hand down Ginger’s tan arm to clasp her fingers. But Ginger didn’t seem to notice—her eyes were locked with Cain’s.
Again, Cain felt a small, but certain, jolt of surprise as he looked deeply into her deep brown eyes, framed with long lashes, curled at the ends. Was that eyeliner she was wearing? And mascara? When had Princess Ginger started wearing makeup anyway? And when had her eyes gotten so mature lookin’?
“Shouldn’t be jumpin’ out of barn doors anymore anyway,” said Woodman, his voice as tender as his gaze was cow-eyed. “You’re twelve now. A young lady.”
Ginger looked up at Woodman, her pretty eyes resting on his face for a moment, and something totally unexpected, incredibly ridiculous, and a lot like jealousy flared within Cain.
“A young lady!” he exclaimed, leaning down to grab his jean jacket and shrug it over his broad shoulders, uncomfortable with the way he was feeling. “Whoo-ee! What a joke! Woodman, you only see what you want to see, cuz!”
“She’s twelve,” said Woodman through grated teeth, a murderous glint in his eyes.
“’Zactly! Twelve. She’s a kid.” Whether he needed to prove the point to her or himself, he wasn’t sure, but Cain chucked her under the chin as he would a baby. “And if you ain’t jumpin’, missy, I’ve got places to be.”
Her brown eyes flashed. “But there’s cake!”
“Got somethin’ sweeter’n cake waitin’ for me,” said Cain, forcing his eyes not to drop to her small breasts again. Mary-Louise. Mary-Louise and her big available titties are waitin’. The princess is just a slip of a kid. Just a kid. “Not to mention, we all know I ain’t invited to Miz Magnolia’s festivities.”
“We’ll run up and git you some!”
“No, thanks,” he said quickly, turning away.
“You can’t just leave!”
Suddenly, Ginger’s fingers were hot and tight on his skin, digging into the flesh of his arm, and Cain’s mind flew to the gutter with such speed, it almost made him dizzy. Those same fingers clutching the back of his neck . . . clutching at his chest . . . clutching at his—
No.
No, no, no.
Not the princess.
Absolutely not.
Besides, his cousin had already staked a claim.
Cain yanked his arm away.
“Am I missin’ somethin’ here?” His heart beat like crazy as he stared down at her lovely face. “Hell, yes, I’m leavin’. I got plans.”
Her eyes, fiery and wild and practically begging him to stay, had never affected him before today, but now they made his insides flare with heat. She looked at him like he mattered, like she needed him, like all the happiness in her world was somehow bound to him, and it made a fierce longing, like he’d never experienced before, spring up within him.
Barely aware of his cousin clearing his throat meaningfully behind her, Cain’s eyes drifted to Ginger’s pink lips before he locked his gaze with hers.
Just a taste. One little taste won’t hurt anything.
“But before I go, since you’re such a young lady now, Miss Virginia, I guess I could give you a birthday kiss, huh?”
Shutting out every objection, he took a step toward her, drowning in the warm bourbon color of her eyes. Reaching up, he placed his hand—his rough, unworthy hand—against the soft skin of her cheek to steady her face and leaned toward her. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she tilted her chin up. Her lips, full and lightly parted, beckoned him, but at the very last moment, common sense screamed NO NO NO so loudly, he changed course abruptly, letting his lips land safely on her other cheek instead.
He closed his eyes and rested there for a moment, his lips pressed against her sweet, sweet skin, his heart racing, his breath held painfully in his chest.